The Mongrel Hordes

I was a prisoner and I was surrounded. I was kept to a strict schedule. Tuesdays at 8 pm I was committed to watching “Dangerous Catch.” Wednesdays at 9 pm, I watched “Pimp Your Ride.” Thursday’s at 10 pm, “Amish Mafia.” Saturday’s were reserved for “James Bond Marathon’s” or “Re-runs of Mork and Mindy” I ordered special from a network website. And when I wasn’t absorbed in a show or a movie, the remote control demanded constant attention. It wanted to be caressed, to have its buttons pressed and it’s owner’s big screen gazed upon no matter the hour. And there were hours upon hours of just sitting there hypnotized by the randomness of channels, shows and infomercials.

Looking around on a Friday night, sitting on the couch alone, I realized that this pixilated alter, mounted on my wall, fifty-eight inches wide and thirty-six inches tall, was my only friend. It was more than a friend. It was more like a demanding lover. It drained my time and energy and made me wish for more. It made me envy and lust and fade into sleep in the late hours of the evening, with nothing to dream about. But it wasn’t real. It was a giant tool for masturbating life instead of living it. I had to get it out of here.

I looked around at the living room, and then the kitchen and then the bedroom. It wasn’t just the television. Stuff crowded around me and slammed into me as if I was in the center of a mosh-pit. I stood in the middle of the main room of my small apartment- the walls of stuff closing in. There was the flat-screen television in front of me, the coffee table just behind me and another foot behind that the couch. A lamp to the right of the couch, another overhead, and two more on top of the desk which held up the wall just next to the television. On top and next to these seemingly necessary and purposeful slices of furniture sat an endless string of extensions cords, appliance plugs, transformers, adapters and headphones wrapped around one another like mating snakes and matted in bunches like the small intestines of C3PO, after he’d been disemboweled.

Books stacked to the ceiling on top of a book shelve which itself had chosen to sleep by the fireplace, grabbing the last bit of real estate no matter how improbable. Assortments of papers, documents, envelops, unused checks, bills and post-it notes littered the desk and the kitchen counter and the coffee table as if flakes of ash from a firestorm. An old computer that lost its relevance more than five years ago, a laptop big enough to sit on the laps of two people sitting side-by-side, stood menacingly on the corner of the desk. It begged me to find a useful purpose for it, or to find it a new owner, or to open its guts and create some new magical technology from its has-been wreckage. Slowly, one-by-one they all called to me.

The giant microwave oven with the picture of an atom on its door, the pile of obsolete mobile telephones screaming to be put to rest, the scourge of ripped and tattered notebooks containing meaningless secrets from the past too haunting to let themselves be forgotten, the broken weather tortured ice-chest squatting on the five square feet of unmolested balcony space, they all moved toward me. Screaming in a high-pitched inaudible squeal that pinched my sinuses and my temples, they pleaded to be near me and I yearned to be rid of them.

Waking in the middle of the night, their shadows leaned over my bed and reached for my throat. I snapped. At first light I called a storage facility. I asked how much it cost but it didn’t matter. I gave them my credit card number and asked when I could come over. Finding a rental truck was more difficult and I betrayed my desperation over the phone, no doubt costing me but again worth it. At first they resisted. I wrestled with that old laptop until we both collapsed on the floor together in tears - entangled in our long lives as roommates. My arms were sore but I dragged it to the doorstep and slammed the door shut. I knew it would refuse to leave. It would still be there when I opened the door an hour, a day or a year later but it was a first step.

The notebooks were next. They had never given me anything but I still clung to the hope. Maybe another day or a week and they’d say something inspiring, but I’d had enough. If it weren’t for the fact that my shredder had broken I’d have shoved them into it, but they were too thick and too numerous for that. They had to be dragged out in boxes, scraping along the wood floors to the very last, demanding one more chance. But I didn’t relent. They went straight to the dumpster in the alley. Only one precious notebook made it to the storage box, just for old time sake.

The first pile of extracted junk felt like the relief of a good shit. A deep and residing pain had been alleviated with only lightness remaining. It was as if my entire apartment lifted off the ground and was floating above the trees.

I was going to sleep well tonight.

The drive over to the storage facility was long and solemn. The protesting had subsided during the drive and I rolled the boxes into the metal compartment, one by one, and slammed the door shut. Immediately after sealing the door, collectively there was one last plea, a thousand screaming voices begging me not to do it - demanding a hearing, promising that I’d regret it, that I’d need them soon enough, that I’d be empty without them. I ignored them one last time and clicked the padlock shut. I walked straight for the elevator, vowing never to think of the bastards again.

When I returned home my apartment felt empty. It was a good feeling, but lonely. The living room had a utilitarian appeal. A sofa sat against the wall for sitting. The refrigerator stood prominently in the kitchen to store food. The desk stood against another wall, bare except for a small, functional i-Pad that sat dominantly on the flat wooden paneling.

Then I noticed the television. It was laughing at me.

I looked at my watch. “Amish Mafia” was starting in ten minutes. Maybe just one last episode, I thought to myself. The television taunted me. It knew my weakness. The cable box and remote control joined it, exerting peer pressure. This wasn’t going to be easy. I closed my eyes and took three deep breathes.

I acted quickly. The more quickly I acted the less likely they’d have time to stop me. I unplugged the power cord first. Then I detached the cable box wires from the television. Last, I pulled the batteries out of the remote control. The television was too heavy for me to evict it immediately, but I called the cable company to cancel my subscription.

I picked up my i-Phone and dialed the 1-800 number listed on the cable box. It rang three times before a woman answered, speaking with a strong southern accent.

“Stone Cable, may I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to cancel my cable subscription immediately,” I said, my throat starting to dry up.

“Yes sir. May I ask why you’re cancelling?”

“Because it’s draining the life out of me, that’s why!” I was starting to lose it.

“Yes sir. May I suggest another package of channels that may be more to your liking? For example we have the Health channel we can add to your subscription for only $10 more a month.”

“No, I just want to cancel,” I said, calming myself.

“Yes sir. Just to let you know, we have a special running right now. If you sign up for six months you can get all the channels you have now plus the ‘Health Channel’ ‘Organized Crime Channel’ ‘Shopping Channel’ and the all new ‘Mental Health Channel’ for free.”

“No thank you,” I said trying to control my tone. “I don’t want any other offers; I just want to cancel my subscription. Now, please.”

“Yes sir. I’ll need to transfer you to our Subscription Cancelling Department. Please hold the line.”

There were a series of beeps, rings and clicks. Then the phone disconnected. I called back immediately.

“We’re sorry, but due to an unusual call volume, you’re average wait time will be twenty-three minutes. We will answer your call in the order it was received,” said an automated message.

I set the phone on the counter, pressed ‘conference’ and waited.

“Yes sir. May I help you?” asked another woman with a southern accent, after a twenty-one minute wait in silence.

“Yes, I need to cancel my cable subscription please.”

“Yes sir. Have you been made aware of the new offers and discounts available for our cable packages?”

“I’ve been made fully aware. Can you please just cancel my subscription!” I was starting to lose it again.

“Yes sir. We will need you to drop the cable box off at our office location to complete the cancellation. My computer shows that the nearest location to you is in Landville.”

“Landville? That’s eighty miles from here!”

“Yes sir.”

“Ok, fine. Will that be all?”

“No sir. We need to send a technician out to your house so we can deactivate the cable system.”

“Well, why can’t I give the cable box to the technician then?”

“No sir. The technician can’t accept cable boxes. That’s a different department.”

“Ok, fine. When can the technician come out?”

“Some time between nine in the morning and five in the evening, sir.”

“Ok, how about nine on Wednesday,” I suggested.

“No sir. The technician will be at your house sometime between the hours of nine in the morning and five in the evening, but we don’t know exactly when. I can try to schedule him for Wednesday. But he may also be there on Thursday or Friday.”

“Are you kidding me?” I was unhinged. I could feel my hands shaking with anger and frustration. If we still used landlines I’d of hung myself with the phone cord.

“No sir. Unfortunately you’ll have to wait for him.”

“And if I’m not here?”

“If you’re not home when the technician arrives, then we can’t cancel your cable, sir.” She paused and then, “and then you’ll have to call us back at our toll free number and reschedule….sir.”

“Fuck you!” I said. “What kind of crappy company is this!” I knew it wasn’t this woman’s fault but she’d become the eye of my hurricane.

“No sir. I’m going to have to disconnect you at this time. Feel free to call us back when you’ve calmed down, sir.” She hung up the phone. The television, remote control and cable box were snickering among themselves, and at my expense.

I picked up the cable box and walked it outside behind the alley. I opened the lid to the large metal dumpster and threw the box inside. Then I dialed the number to my bank and ordered them to stop all future payments to the cable company.

When I walked back into my apartment the television and remote were silent.

“Not laughing now, are ya?” I said, staring down the shiny flat-screen.

I sat down on the couch, feeling another breeze of calm blow over me. The room felt clear and my mind felt as clear as the room. There was a quiet and a freedom that came with it. No more needless obligations, no more needless noise. It was like a freshly erased whiteboard lay before me and I was free to draw something new.

Whatever I wanted.